Ada pressed her lips into a tight line and forced a smile. “It’s nothing. Just a bit of a misunderstanding with someone I thought was a friend.”
“Ah.” Bethany nodded as though that made perfect sense to her. “Well, you’re welcome here. We’ll make sure you forget whatever grief this person caused you in no time at all.”
As much as Ada appreciated the sentiment, she doubted her sister’s plan would work. Forgetting Anthony would be as impossible as forgetting her very own name. But with time, she hoped her heart would hurt a bit less when she thought about him.
What was wrong with carriages these days? Whenever Anthony used one it never seemed to move as fast as he’d like. Getting out of London had taken ages, whether because of the hour he’d chosen to set off or some other reason, he’d no idea. But at least they were finally on the North Road.
Angling himself, he peered out the window and tried to glimpse the road ahead. Ah. His was not the only carriage. There was a bloody procession of them. No wonder they were trotting rather than racing along as he’d hoped. By now, they ought to have been halfway there, but he feared they’d only travelled a third of the journey.
He gave his head a swift shake and reclined against the squabs, his sprained ankle resting comfortably on the opposite bench.
Closing his eyes briefly, he pondered the various invitations he’d received these past few weeks. There had been a couple of house parties among them, which could explain the sudden rush of carriages heading toward the Earl of Cloverfield’s estate.
They’d continue past Hitchin if he were correct, so he might as well resign himself to arriving at Ada’s sister’s an hour later than he’d initially planned. Crossing his arms, he went back over the events of the past forty-eight hours. At this time the day before yesterday, he’d been excited about the ball, and the prospect of seeing Ada.
Now, he felt like his life was falling apart.
He gnashed his teeth and wondered if he would ever stop being angry with Miss Starling. What she’d done was utterly unforgiveable. Perhaps he ought to have punished her more. Her intention had after all been to wreck Ada’s life and his for her own selfish gain.
All he could do was hope the damage she’d done wasn’t permanent. Hopefully, Ada would see him when he showed up and listen to his explanation. Hopefully, she would believe what he told her for if she didn’t…
Swallowing, he tried to ignore the way his gut twisted. They would find a way to get through this. He had to have faith.
The carriage trundled onward as rain started to fall – a steady pitter patter that gradually turned into a full downpour. Progress became increasingly tedious, until the horses had slowed to little more than a walk. Anthony huffed an unhappy breath.
At this rate he’d not get there until well after dark, which might make finding the house a bit more of a challenge.
Plus, arriving after five was bad enough form without also intruding on supper, which he was now sure to do unless he delayed and arrived even later. He drummed his fingers restlessly on his thigh and decided he might as well give up fretting about it since it was out of his hands.
One thing was certain – he would not wait until morning to call on Ada. He absolutely had to speak with her before he went to bed or he’d not be able to sleep. Confined to the cabin in which he travelled, he glanced at the lap desk Mathis had sent along with him. Perhaps if he wrote a little, the time would pass quicker and he would relax.
He grabbed the lap desk, opened it, and retrieved a piece of paper. Since Brody had written the last third of the novel, he was also meant to write the ending, but when Anthony had spoken to him at the ball, he’d mentioned struggling with it. So all three men had decided to give it a go. Eventually, they’d present the different versions to Ada – provided she’d be on speaking terms with him once more – and let her pick the one she thought was best.
Anthony dipped his quill in the inkwell and went to work. Now that he knew what it meant to lose one’s chance at true love, he had no trouble relating to what the earl in the story was going through. He, too, was chasing after the woman he wanted and was desperate to reach her before she arrived at Gretna Green and married another. All because he’d been too afraid of what others would say if he made her his wife.
Anthony would not make the same mistake, he vowed.
To hell with public scrutiny.
All that mattered was Ada.
And it was because of how much he needed her to accept his offer of marriage that his heart gave a nervous jolt when the carriage eventually came to a halt.
They’d arrived in front of a narrow but well-kept house. Anthony gathered the papers he’d been working on and packed them away along with his quill. He grabbed his cane and waited for his footman to set down the step. The poor man, drenched from head to toe on account of the rain, completed the job without any hint of displeasure, and helped Anthony alight.
“Thank you, Travis. I’ll see to it that you get a hot bath and a comfortable bed for the night.”
“I’d appreciate that a great deal, Your Grace. Thank you.”
Eager to get out of the horrid weather, Anthony hobbled across the pavement and started up the steps that led to Bethany Howard’s front door. Once there, he gave the knocker a few solid raps.
It didn’t take long for the door to open. A young man dressed in a dark brown wool jacket and matching trousers answered the call. He stared at Anthony “Yes?”
“Pardon the intrusion,” Anthony said. “I’m the Duke of Westcliffe. I’ve come to speak with Miss Ada Quinn, if she’s available.”
When the other man simply gaped at him, he produced a card and handed it over, just to be sure his identity wouldn’t be called into question.
“This is the Howard home, is it not?” he asked, when the silence dragged on.
